


Tomorrow We Die

by lasergirl



Category: James Bond - Fleming
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl





	Tomorrow We Die

_**James Bond: Tomorrow We Die**_  
**Title:** Tomorrow We Die  
**Fandom:** James Bond bookverse by Ian Fleming  
**Paring:** James Bond/Felix Leiter  
**Rating:** PG, mild m/m sexual content  
**Notes:** Unfinished (very much so) story from August 2003. Post-_Thunderball_ but pre-_Man With the Golden Gun_. Italics indicate unwritten sections. I didn't finish it because it got way too wanky, and also the fandom is miniscule: me.

_Bond arrives at the Naval Air Station in Key West on shady business. He's there because there's a guy code-named Jason who's running drugs, something something._

He meets his US Government contact in a bar at his hotel, where he's checked in under the usual Alias, Mark Hazard. Stuff happens.  
  
**

"Mister Bond?" asked a quiet voice at his elbow. He set down his drink and turned.

She was a red-head, with the pale complexion and faint freckles that implied. Her bobbed hair wasn't pulled back, but hung smoothly across the jawline. She wasn't wearing much in the way of jewelery, only a silver watch and a plain choker, and she was dressed, Bond thought, perfectly for the climate, in a white sleeveless blouse and skirt. Bond found himself rising and taking her hand.

"I am," he replied smoothly "And you must be–"

"Paris," she said, the strong set of her jaw daring Bond to pass judgement, "Paris Troy. There is a gentleman upstairs who wishes to meet you."

"Surely there's room enough for three at the table?" Bond asked. Paris shook her head sharply, disrupting the line of her hair. She left it alone and eventually it fell back into place.

"Not here," she said. "He doesn't wish there to be a scene.

"How do I know you won't shoot me in the elevator?" Bond squinted, trying to assess her composure. She laughed and handed him a hotel room key on a black lucite tag. The number on the tag was 700. Mentally, Bond placed the room; three floors below his, in the West Wing.

"You don't need my help to find it, I assume." And she turned away from him and disappeared back through the crowd.

Bond fingered the room key's tag. It was a Continental suite, two rooms plus a kitchenette and bath. His own room was the Executive, with an unobstructed view of the sea from every one of its five rooms. His opponent was keeping a low profile.

Bond took the key and went up in the elevator.

At suite 700, the hallway did two quick 90-degree turns so the entrance was practically unwatchable. He knocked lightly on the door, his palms moist. He felt the extraordinary sense of being watched. There was a peephole in the centre of the door that reminded him of the black eye of a gun barrel.

Should he use the key? A brief moment of indecision. His hand moved for the grip of his gun.

"Don't stand around all day, some of us have a job to do." He heard a lazy, drawling voice from inside as the door swung open. Standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face, was Bond's old friend Felix Leiter. Bond laughed in amazement.

"So it's you, you damned shady crook!" he said delightedly, grasping Leiter's shoulder in greeting. The two had not seen one another for quite some time. Leiter was still in good shape, even when his handicap was considered. It was hard not to notice the steel hook he wore in place of his right hand, but the heavy limp had all but vanished.

"Say, step inside, would you? I'm expecting company and we're trying not to be too conspicuous." Leiter jerked his head towards the comfortably-appointed living room. "Make yourself at home. There's a little light reading for you there."

"Jason?" Bond asked.

"It's all there in the dossier. I'll give you a few minutes to read it. I need more ice in my drink, anyway. You want something?"

"What you're having," Bond suggested. Felix poured a liberal whiskey highball and brought it to the coffeetable littered with files. Bond took it and raised it briefly in a silent toast. Felix's eyes crinkled in amusement, but returned the guesture. They drank.

"Now tell me, Felix," Bond was the first to speak, "since when do you employ women to intimidate me?"

Leiter grinned his old grin and shrugged sheepishly. "I knew you'd bite. Tropical weather, short skirt, it has your name written all over it."

"Why in hell didn't she tell me it was you!" Bond shook his head.

Leiter rubbed a thumb along the line of his jaw. "Didn't want you making this kind of scene where there might be unfriendlies. Look at you. You'd think you never had a friend in your life."

Bond snorted and began leafing through the file.

_There is an appropriate Bond-ian dossier villian history thing here, which I never wrote...._

The dossier completed, Bond refreshed his drink at the sidetable where Leiter's whiskey was keeping company with a bucket of ice.

"Our governments sure like to play coy," he said with a sigh. "So you're the CIA man on this job."

There was a short, purposeful rap at the door. Felix went to unlatch it, looking uncomfortable.

"Actually, James," Felix said, "The CIA man is a woman."

Bond couldn't help himself. His mouth fell open as Paris entered.

"You're quite handsome, you know," Paris said cooly, giving Bond a nod as she entered. She shared a quick wink with Leiter. "I suppose you've told him then, by that look on his face."

"Only just," Leiter said jovially. Bond got the distinct sensation Leiter wasn't at all pleased with the current arrangements. "And we haven't by any means got past introductions. You two know each other, so we can start ordering room service. I'm starving!"

At that though, Bond laughed, remembering that in both his and Leiter's world, dinner and drinks came before any proper bit of business.

"If you want to do it properly, Felix," Bond said "My suite has a full dining set that's just collecting dust."

"By all means!" Felix took up a briefcase and shuffled the folders into it, ignoring the sour look that crossed Paris' face. "You won't mind if I don't change for dinner, will you?"

**

"I was sent as an attaché for this project," Leiter explained, after the dinner dishes had been moved aside. "You never really get away, they just give you a longer leash. They thought I'd keep you two from killing each other. Or from other sort of unnecessary, er, "contact," I think your Director put it." He cleared his throat purposefully, a blush creeping at the edges of his cheeks. "Between you and me we've covered over half this territory at close range, and a lot more of it by air. That'll put us at an advantage for this game."

"The new maps are amazingly accurate," Bond admitted. "Even two years ago, some of these shoals were still uncharted. They could sink a boat in two minutes."

Paris, through all of this, was sitting back on the hard couch watching them both impassively over the edge of her wine glass.

"Still, I suppose I'll be some help," Leiter said thoughtfully. "Never mind when they said "tropical experience" I was thinking cocktails on the beach, and a fast car or two. Don't trust him, Paris, but don't let him out of your sight either or you're liable to get tossed to the sharks."

Paris coughed discreetly on her sip of white wine.

"I'm sorry," she said "I wasn't under the impression that Mr. Bond was going to be giving me any advice beyond that which the job requires. "Also," she continued, after earning a dark glare from Bond, "despite the popular conception, it is neither profitable, effective nor fool-proof for criminals to feed people to the sharks. There is too large a margin of error."

At that, Leiter only winced, a very tiny scowl that creased the corners of his eyes. He turned his attention back to the reef maps.

** Later....

"Are you sure you won't stick around?" Felix asked blandly. He was sitting with one foot placed purposefully on the corner of the coffeetable. He looked as if he meant to shove it across into Troy's shins.

"No, thank you," she said, equally emotionless. She gathered her papers together and tucked them under one arm. "I have a flight to catch tomorrow. I'll leave you with your briefings. I hope when I return you will have some plan of assault, Mr. Bond."

Bond nodded.

"Then goodnight," Paris nodded curtly to the two men and departed. They sat in silence a moment.

"Is she always like that?" Bond asked finally.

"Afraid so," Felix said apologetically. "Makes some of your people look like grade school teachers, doesn't she?" He tossed back the remains of his watery highball and scowled at the door. "If it weren't for the job I'm doing... well, god knows I'd be far from here."

That was something Bond wanted to know.

"So tell me, Felix, if you aren't with the CIA then what the hell are you doing in this outfit?"

"Doing?" Leiter chucked, his humour returning. "You never really leave the Company. I'm on the emergency list they're carrying. Officially, I'm her supervisor, which is the only reason she hasn't killed me yet. Something's funny on this job and my bosses are interested in keeping an eye on her. Just pretend I'm not here at all."

"That's going to be difficult," Bond admitted, "But the job will be simple enough with the right equipment. I'm sure Q Branch will be of assistance."

"Of course," Leiter said, "You and your gadgets. I've seen some of those in action, don't forget. I expect you to come back in one piece." Despite his deadpan demeanour, there was a glint of humour in his eyes.

Bond stared down at the maps and folders that littered the coffeetable. He had never doubted his abilities before.

"I don't think I could live with all the trouble I'd get from you if I didn't" Bond responded.

Felix laughed warmly, and nodded. His voice was light but his eyes were as hard as stone as he said darkly, "Trouble isn't the half of it, James. I know you've had your fair share of scrapes. But you won't like the view of the world from a hospital bed if you're there too long."

Bond swallowed past the hard lump that had grown in his throat. He thought of Florida, and how badly those adventures had treated his friend. Their occupations had kept them apart for years at a time, and then roughly thrown them both back into danger. In the past few years, he presumed, Leiter had been retrieved by the CIA and re-assigned. But their respective jobs never offered them time enough to just sit out of harm's way. Bond rather enjoyed it.

"Now, why don't we ever have time to get rightly and properly intoxicated?" Bond asked.

"I think you are usually off acting the hero and chasing skirts," Felix laughed. "When you catch them, you know, you're allowed to throw some of them back for the rest of us."

"What? Whatever gave you that impression, Felix?" He laughed at took a sip of his drink. "I only keep the ones worth the fight."

"Well, when you're done fighting, remember there's an amicable American just waiting to go out dancing if you don't come back."

Bond laughed into the bottom of his glass. The liquor was doing its best to keep his guilty conscience from dragging him down.

"I thought you weren't allowed to take advantage of the situation."

"Well, I suppose it could be different for you Brits, I guess there aren't a lot of exotic types running wild on the moors."

"Ahh, Felix, you should never say that until you've tried the local specialities. What if I was to say there were no good-looking women in Texas?"

"Well, I'd have to take offense right there, because my ex-wife was quite the looker." Leiter whistled in remembrance. "'Course she couldn't stand that I was married to my job before I was married to her. Could never tell her where I was going. So one time, I got home from an assignment and she had packed."

"I thought you were still with Pinkerton's," Bond said, settling himself deeper into the couch. Leiter shrugged.

"You know you don't get very far before they rope you back in again. Besides, the private dick work was mostly for show; I get time to come back up to speed, the Company gets to keep their operative. Everyone goes home happy."

"I though that you had retired, you old crook."

"Oh, nah. Retire? Me? You must be thinking of some other damn fool who sticks his toe in the water and goes back to his beach chair. Who wouldn't miss playing around with MI6 every so often. Face it, there's nothing gonna keep me out of this game. I'm too accustomed to this."

Bond enjoyed Leiter's company so much that when the opportunity arose, he'd spend every free moment in his company. For most jobs, either by assignment or by circumstance, they were forced to keep their professional distance, and pretend they hardly knew each other. Once, then their assignments had both led them to the same place, Bond had relished the uninterrupted two-hour drive to the racing track at Saratoga, with Leiter at the wheel.

And now, their conversation turned more towards the personal realm, beyond simple shop-talk and occupational shorthand.

"You know Felix, it's always a pleasure to see you again. Damnit, why aren't you ever up in my neck of the woods? Do I always have to jump the puddle?"

"It's always somewhere tropical, isn't it -" Leiter sighed. "How romantic - you and me sweating bullets and trying to save our skins. Next vacation time or bonus I get, I'll send you a wire. You can tour me around all that fog I heard you've got in London. 'Course it might be fun careening about the place on the wrong side of the road." Leiter gazed impassively at the gleaming hook that was his right hand. "I don't think I'd mind driving with real flesh-and-bone on the gearshift. Might shave seconds from my mile-and-a-quarter."

The pained smile froze itself on Bond's lips.

Feliz laughed and added lazily "Course, my doctors said I was a difficult patient. Tried to get me to change up for an automatic transtition so I told them to stuff it."

"Felix, I –" Bond stopped. Felix pushed the straw hair back from his eyes and frowned.

"Go ahead, James, I'm not going to bite. You've had this in you all night."

Bond took a breath and said bluntly, "You must hate me."

An expression passed over Leiter's face that was a mixture of anger and frustration.

"You sure got a guilty conscience," his voice sounded hurt.

"I didn't write, I didn't see you for two years, you lost your job, and you're my best friend!"

"I'm not dead you know," Felix said softly. "You don't have to mourn me. I always found that looking down into your grave was a lousy way to live."

"You shouldn't even have been involved in St. Petersburg in the first place."

"Hey," Felix had a hot touch of anger in his voice. "You'll recall I went to look at that warehouse of my own free will. And it wasn't your fault that four guys grabbed me and roughed me up. You weren't the one who kicked the bolt back on that trap door, alright?"

"You nearly died."

"Nearly isn't enough to kill a Leiter, James." Felix muttered. "We're tough that way."

"Well, you can try to make me feel better, but I still won't believe you."

"No, I suppose not," Leiter mused. "I'll tell you something, though, I'm probably in better shape now than I was when we first met. It's some kind of compensation. I got top marks at the last firearms qualifier. I don't go around showing it off, but I got a certificate in my sock drawer. Remind me to show it to you sometime." Leiter pushed out of his chair and stood at the window, gazing moodily at the ocean view beyond the sill.

"You know that danger comes with this game," but his words sounded false and emptry. Leiter raised his head and looked straight at Bond.

"And you know that I would never pass any of it up, not for all the oil or steak in Texas."

Bond smiled, his throat tight.

"Jesus, James, you don't think I blame you, do you? Seriously?" Bond held steady, waiting for Leiter to drop the other shoe. "Anything that happened to me was my own damn fault, not yours."

Bond looked at his feet on the soft beige carpet. He cleared his throat and spoke lowly.

"I couldn't help when I was needed. I was off with some foolish woman instead of my best friend! I can't help but feel guilty. Look what happened!"

"Look, now, I've had a lot of time to sweat this out, and I don't blame you, or myself, or any of those foolish girls.," Felix slapped his open palm on the arm of his chair to emphasize. "You said it, danger is part of this game, and I knew that when I signed on. And my agency knows it. We all carry a hell of a lot of insurance." He got up and reached for the lonely whiskey bottle, then drowned his melting ice. "Now, are you having some?"

Bond nodded. Leiter went over to the sidetable and poured another glass. He added ice and poured the same stiff drink for Bond. As he held out the glass, he said, "Now, I don't want any more of your stories, do you hear? Jesus, listen to me getting all soft. The Marine Corps is laughing at me."

Bond gulped thirstily at his drink. It burned going down. He relished the feeling, giving him some other pain to think about instead of the gloom in his heart.

"Don't drink it all like that, wait for me," Leiter grinned, and took a swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's better."

They talked well into the evening, as the sun went down, painting the sky red and orange like a conch shell. The whiskey bottle got lower and lower and all the ice melted in the bucket. And the two friends, oblivious to just about everything but themselves, were still going.

"If I drink anymore I'll wake up dead tomorrow," Felix said finally, contemplating the final two inches in the bottle. "My liver's going to hate me if I finish that."

"I think mine's about to strike," Bond affirmed. "Seems a shame, though, doesn't it?"

"Well-" Felix grunted, rising to his feet "There's always tomorrow, right James?

Bond squinted up at his friend for a moment before pulling himself up as well. He saw Leiter to the door of the suite. They were both quite drunk.

"See you at breakfast," Leiter chuckled, checking his watch. "Oh, better make that brunch. We can watch shuffleboard and have eggs benedict on the patio."

"Eat, drink and be merry," said Bond. Leiter paused, a grave expression flitting over his face.

"For tomorrow we-" He had his hand on Bond's shoulder, staring at it like it belonged to someone else. Then his wry smile snuck back. "Aw, hell, I'll still be around when you wake up tomorrow."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bond let himself a half-smile, and watched Leiter move off down the hall to the elevator. When the lean Texan had gone, Bond shut the door and put the chain-bolt on.

Even Bond, who had taken his fair share of the whiskey, was impressed with Leiter's demeanour. He'd seen hard men turn into babbling idiots after a few drinks. But Leiter only seemed to get sharper, more focused. Almost like a diamond being cut, he reflected, the impurities lifted away to reveal the true stone at the heart.

Bond watched him move off down the hallway towards the elevator. When he had gone, Bond shut the door and put the chain-bolt on. He put the well-used glasses on the side table where a maid would tend to them the next day. He switched off all the lamps and laid down on the his bed fully clothed. His high-strung nerves sang in the silence like steel wire.

What was it Leiter had said? His thoughts buzzed nervously around as he lay, close to sleep. He would have to ask him to repeat it in the morning.

**

Someone was knocking at the door. Training and reflexes kicked in before consciousness, and Bond was on his feet and halfway across the bedroom before his eyes were fully open.

"Dammit, James, I know you're in there!" He recognized the voice, and a quick look through the peephole proved it really was Leiter. Bond opened the door and Felix rushed in. "Jesus Christ, I thought they had you, too," he said breathlessly.

Bond took in his dishevelled appearance, and quickly decided Felix, too, had not changed from the night before. His eyes were red and his clothes in disarray. Bond noticed a little blood in the straw hair.

"Are you hurt?" He asked quickly. Felix put his hand to the back of his head and laughed bitterly.

"Oh, that," he said sourly, "a goose-egg and a split, nothing bad. We're in worse trouble than that now, though. They rifled my room last night and when I got back I walked right into it. Left a mark."

"Weapons?"

"Couple of guys with guns but they mustn't have meant it – one of them used his to cure my hangover. Slept pretty good, even if I did miss the bed."

"You're lucky he didn't tan your hide," Bond said. "Does Paris know?"

"Haven't located her yet. When I called the airline she hadn't made her flight. They may have gotten her first and stayed around to put me out.

**

_Bond infiltrates Jason's lair and finds out there's actually some woman running the show, that no one's ever seen..._

"Who is she!" Bond took the skinny man by the throat and squeezed him against the wall.

"I don't know," choked the man, trying not to snivel. Bond wanted to smack him. "Don't know what she's rightly called, but around here we were told to say 'Barracuda'."

Bond's mental picture was first of the dangerous nickel-plated fish with razor-sharp teeth, then of a woman. A chill ran up his spine and he though of the possibilities of her smile.

"You've never met her?" Bond choked the man harder, even carelessly. The man struggled and Bond let him take a breath.

"Never," he wheezed, "only telegrams telling us what to do."

A sharp blow to the back of his head. Falling, into blackness Bond found familiar. Barracuda... he was in more trouble than he'd thought.

**

_So they capture him and stick him in a cave!_

**

When he woke up, everything was dark. Somewhere close by, the soft wet lick of waves could be heard. He put his hand to the back of his head - wet. He licked his finger. Not the iron taste of blood. Salt. The phosphorescent numbers of his watch said 0430.

He was in an enclosed space, that much he could tell from the echo. The walls were damp stone, covered with some kind of plant life. Rubbery seaweed, Bond realized. A cave? His hands fumbled at his belt to release the tiny penlight housed in the buckle. He shone the light around him.

It was a small, teardrop-shaped cave, perhaps ten feet across, with a blowhole overhead to the rocky spit above. To the seaward side, which sloped away from him, there was an angled metal grille, fixed with a padlocked length of chain. The bars were almost far enough apart for a man to put his head through. Bond went to the grille and braced hard. He succeeded only in shaking the grille against its shackles. The rattling echoed hollowly in the tiny chamber.

What of the airshaft, then? Bond could see a faint glow of light. He tried his arm, shirt sleeve rolled to the shoulder, but received only stinging scratches from the porous rock.

Trapped! Was this his fate, then, to sit in a wet cave until his captors came to finish him off? Or worse... Bond looked at the grille and saw the waterline lapping at the edge. Yes, until the tide came in. Then he would end up just like 313, lungs full of water, scrabbling at the unforgiving rock until his fingertips bled and then, when he could swim no higher, the fish would eat him too.

The lock-kit provided by Q Branch was concealed in a side seam of his duck trousers; a flat piece of sprung steel for jamming the tumblers, and three wire picks with curved ends of varying degrees. He pulled at the thread of the hidden seam and it fell open. He extracted the tools and examined the lock.

It was heavy, designed around a large and complicated key like a safety-deposit box. Although relatively new, the salt water had already begun to corrode it and the inner tumblers moved grudingly at Bond's coaxing.

He crouched, working the lock's mechanisms, until his legs ached and his hands were numb. Steadily, the water in the chamber rose. Bond kept low, close to the lock, until the water rose above his waist and he had to fight against his own buoyancy. Finally he took a breather, a few lung-fulls of air beginning to grow stale. The chamber was now half-full and he knew the second half would come more swiftly as the walls narrowed towards the blowhole.

It was on his second underwater try with the recalcitrant tumblers that he saw a flash of blue and silver. He froze, his salt-stung eyes trying desperately to see past the gloom of the tunnel. In the light outside the mouth of the tunnel, small fish had gathered. But the glint he had seen was not a bigger predator, it was a diver's mask!

Dizzy and breathless, Bond rattled the lock against the bars. The faceless mask turned his way. Yes, the diver was coming towards the mouth of the cave. Bond's lungs were bursting and he surfaced quickly, sucking a few salty lungfulls of air before submerging.

The diver was clad in a black rubber wetsuit, a single-cylinder tank strapped to his back. One hand was tightly gripping a murderous-looking spear-gun. For a moment Bond's heart jolted as he though of a likely target for that spear - and with the barracuda in the water – but when the diver began to inch into the mouth of the small tunnel, Bond saw the glint of steel at the right hand.

Bond surfaced for another breath. The water was close to the roof of the cave now and he had to crane his head back to catch a free breath.

At the grille, Leiter was pulling at a nylon strap across his chest. When it fell loose he had a long-handled pair of strong bolt-cutters. He passed them through to Bond. They took two, three bites at a link and the chain fell. The grille drew back towards Bond with a tortured squeal.

Bond tried to scramble for the open end of the tunnel but Leiter put a hand out against his chest and shook his head. He passed the mouthpiece of his air-tank to Bond.

The stale compressed air had never been so welcome. Bond took deep, unhurried breaths and the nervous tingling in his hands and feet subsided. His mind calmed, free from the primeval terror of drowning.

Leiter nodded under the mask and began to inch backwards out of the tunnel. With Bond following within easy reach of the respirator, the two worked their way out away from the cave and its certain fate.

But Leiter didn't allow Bond to surface. He grabbed the front of Bond's shirt and shook his head again. Bond squinted up through the salt and could see the fat white bellies of sailboats and pilings he presumed were a wharf. Sinister shapes of long predator fish hung motionless in the water around the pilings. Any sudden movements toward the big fish and there would be problems. Instead, Leiter jerked his thumb towards the sandy bottom. They skirted the overhung jaw of the rocky shoreline until it gave way to patches of low coral reef. The two men moved steadily, slowing to share the respirator until they had traversed the pale flats of sand. By the changes in the marine life, Bond knew they were heading into deeper water.

Leiter stopped finally at a rope attached to a bright anchor, dropped into the sand. Above them was the ridged aluminum hull of a diving boat. He followed the rope towards the rippling ceiling of glass above their heads. The time for decompression was an eternity for Bond, who despite the respirator's kiss, was longing for the fresh air and bright sunlight he knew waited above.

They surfaced on the seaward side of the boat and Leiter spat out the mouthpiece and tore away the mask.

"Jesus, James, if I have to do that crawl again I'll send you the bill!" But there was a relieved grin on his face and Bond could feel the same on his own.

"Thanks Felix," he said earnestly, "I thought another few minutes and the lock would give."

"The only thing giving in that place would be the authorities releasing your drowned little body," Leiter spat. He clung to the ladder at the back of the small craft, pulling at the respirator's harness. "Christ, get this thing off me."

Bond pulled himself aboard and shook like a drenched cat. He felt heavy and slow after being underwater for so long. His eyes burned from the salt water. He took a hold of the air cylinder as Leiter let it go. Bond heaved it over the edge, now considerably lighter after their excursion. Leiter clambered awkwardly into the boat like a half-drowned spider.

"Remind me never to let you off on your own," he grumbled, "You left and things went to hell. While you were napping in Davy Jones' footlocker, I've talked to your people twice. My boss personally wanted to wring your neck if you showed up alive. I think I may give him that chance."

Bond stripped off his wet shirt and hung it on the point of the spear-gun as it leaned against the gunwale. The sun was hot across his naked back.

"There's something rotten going all through this," he said finally. "

Leiter hung his head and ran a hand through his dripping blonde hair.

"You don't suppose it's a coincidence, then, you being nabbed and her going missing," he offered grimly. Bond shook his head. "Well, we better get the hell out of here, then, before someone comes looking."

**

The wharf close to the hotel bustled with departing snorkelling and reef-diving tours. A boat full of sunburnt Germans departed grimly from the Angler's Haven Inc. slip as Leiter piloted the craft in to dock. Bond had only just secured the bowline and was scrambling back to the stern to catch Leiter's toss when two men approached the boat. They didn't look like harbour officials, and were most certainly carrying automatics in the waistbands of their shorts. Bond knew that would hamper their draw, but both he and Leiter were still unarmed.

"You Bond?" the one in front asked Bond. He was tanned nut-brown and a white scar ran through one of his dark eyebrows. He flashed a gold-toothed grin as he sauntered down the dock. His burly companion settled into an intimidating cross-armed stance behind him. "Could you come with us, please? There's been a disturbance at the hotel. We have a car waiting."

A car to take them the hundred-odd yards back to the hotel? Bond glanced over at Leiter and saw the same determined expression on his friend's face. He also saw the nervous twitching of the man's gun-hand. The man had not used Bond's hotel check-in alias in addressing him, a sign that his cover had been compromised. These men were clearly not from any genuine enforcement agency, if the Bermuda shorts and brightly-patterned shirts could be any more of a giveaway. If the two men were hired killers, they would have had their weapons out by now. Amateurs, Bond rationalized, and cocky ones at that. Perhaps that would give he and Leiter an edge.

"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with some other chap," Bond put on his best plummy Oxfordian tones, "my name's Hazard, Mark Hazard. With Universal Exports, don't you know."

The first man's gilded grin faded a little, and he glanced uneasly at his companion.  
"If you aren't Bond, who the hell is that?" The man jerked his chin at Leiter.

"Ah!" Bond pressed further, covering his nerves with fussing and chatter. "Mister Larkin is a marine consultant we brought in especially for this project. You see, we at Universal are highly concerned with the damaging effects our new seacraft may have on the ocean environment. He has been showing me the reef system in quite some detail."

"Also run tours, if you're interested," Leiter drawled easily. "We're booked through till next week but I'm sure I can get you a reservation."

"No," the second thug grunted, approaching the boat. "I'm pretty sure you are James Bond. This guy's not a marine consultant either, he's a spook working with you. We got orders to take you back to your hotel."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Bond said "but perhaps we should go and see what all this mix-up is about. Sorry for all the fuss."

"Don't forget your shirt, Mark," Leiter said glibly, moving to the bow of the boat.

** _In the dumbest part I never wrote, this was where Bond and Leiter ATTACK THE BAD GUYS WITH SPEAR GUNS and actually manage to get away. They get to some more-remote location and get in touch with Moneypenny, who arranges them a hidey-hotel...._

**

It was well past midday when the two men checked into their hotel. The situation was a little unclear to the desk clerk, but a rather emphatic British woman had stressed the importance that a reservation must be held for a Mr. Mark Hazard and his lawyer. And, the woman had said at the end of the telephone call, no one was to know they were Very Important People.

James Bond was exhausted. He'd used his final reserve of nerve and good cheer charming Moneypenny to make a business call after-hours. Luckily, the historic inn had a spare suite, and they were able to duck out of sight for a few hours. They would receive further instructions within a few hours, once the CIA managed to put operatives in place. Bond's news was unwelcome, but not entirely unexpected. Soon, the battle would begin.

Leiter, for his daring undersea rescue, was definitely worse for wear. The swim had taxed his stamina, and the brutal dispatch of the two shoreguards left him hurting. Bond noticed he was limping as they made their way upstairs to the reserved suite.

"If you're going to shower, you'd better do it soon or I'll be in there all night," Leiter said, looking enviously at a hibiscus-print armchair at the foot of the bed. Exhaustion bent his normally-resilient frame and he looked, even just for the moment, completely defeated.

"No, you go first, Felix –" Bond offered. "I was thinking about taking a few winks. It'll probably do you some good."

"If I drown in there, you'll have to come and save me," he said with a touch of humour. Bond smiled as he went out.

Forty minutes later, Bond was woken from his dozing by a muttered expletive coming from the bathroom. He got up, and tapped lightly on the door with one knuckle.

"You decent in there, Felix?" he asked cautiously.

"You may as well come in if you're going to," Leiter replied sourly. "I'm losing the battle anyway."

Bond went in and found him, bathed and dressed in his undershirt, sitting on the closed toilet. He was trying to put bits of sticking-plaster under the places where the harness for his prosthetic arm had bitten in. He looked up guiltily as Bond came in.

"The salt really gets to you, doesn't it?" he sounded ashamed.

Bond took the roll of plaster from his friend's shaking fingers.

"Come back out and I'll do it," he offered. Leiter tensed and Bond could see the war his pride was waging with his comfort. Finally, he capitulated.

"Alright," he said. Bond took his good arm and helped him up. "Guess I'm not as good at playing the hero as I thought," he chuckled but there was hurt in his voice.

"Don't worry, you did just fine," Bond said easily, "You did more than I could when I needed it most, and that's what counts." Felix sat on the edge of the bed and submitted himself to Bond's administering. "It might be easier if you could undo it," he suggested.

"Sure," Felix closed his eyes, but his hand crept to the strap at his left side and unfastened it. The harness went loose across his back and Bond put some plaster across his bony shoulderblade.

"I haven't swam that far since special forces training," Felix mused softly. "Of course, it's a little different when you parachute into it with full gear. I'm in the wrong line of work. I should have been Jacques Cousteau."

Bond paused with one hand an inch from the back of Felix's neck. He let his hand rest there for a moment. The skin under his hand was warm. Bond felt the muscles relax under his touch.

"Do you regret any of it?" he asked thickly, feeling a strange rush of emotion choke him.

Felix half-turned then, something in his eyes that Bond did not expect. It was not anger, and that surprised him.

"For you, James?" Felix said softly, "No."

"Wouldn't you have done anything differently?" He didn't take his hand away.

"I'm sure I would," Felix said, "But it's too late for some things."

"But some things…" Bond found himself leaning down to brush his lips over the back of Felix's neck. "… there's still time to change."

Felix turned his head and took Bond's kiss into the hollow beneath his jaw.

"I couldn't tell you," he said, and his voice was rough, "at the time I didn't know myself. At least I know better now. I'd do anything I had to."

"Anything, Felix?" Bond tilted the Texan's face up to meet his. This time, Felix kissed back, and before they moved further onto the bed, he had time to chuckle and answer Bond's question;

"Anything, James."

**

_And of course, the inevitable happens...._

**

The next morning, the phone rang only twice before Bond snatched it from the cradle.

"Mister Hazard?" It was Moneypenny's crisp tones. "Good morning."

"'Morning," Bond replied. He was already fully awake.

"You have a lunch date with an important client today—" she said smoothly. The many miles separating them across the globe were instantly erased by the clearness of the long-distance connection. "Twelve o'clock at the company's café. Your client is interested in our air tour line. The head waiter has your reservations. Your secretary is also welcome to join you."

"Felicia—" Bond slapped lightly at the rumped sheets next to him. "Wake up."

"If that's room service, I need breakfast," Leiter groaned with his head under the pillow.

**

_And that's pretty much where it ends. A few end notes pertaining to the last section:_

One: "Felicia" was what Bond called Felix in a lightly-coded conversation with his HQ in Live and Let Die. Which is amusing if you spell it, because you get F-e-l-i…. CIA. I just tried that now. Bond spells it over the phone to HQ. I bet they didn't expect this lovely domestic scene, though.

Two: Mild translation of the verbal code is as follows. They are to meet a CIA agent at noon, at the pre-arranged location on the air base, and will receive guns and further instructions.)

Three: I love this stuff.  


Questions? Comments? Feedback gladly appreciated.

and I know it's very wanky....


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